


Reassurance

by EiriTheBear



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oneshot, Slash, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 15:23:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1433362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EiriTheBear/pseuds/EiriTheBear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek’s pack meetings become less and less about town protection and mythological creatures, and more about movie nights and sleepovers. What he doesn’t get is why Stiles keeps ditching them, so he goes and investigates, read, Derek stalks Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reassurance

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write one of these fics where Stiles is in need of a pick-me-up.

It’s not that he’s made it mandatory for everyone to attend—Derek knows that they have a lot of other things on their plate—but he figures that maybe his being Alpha has played some part in making them come to the pack meetings despite their other commitments. He’s more of guilty than satisfied with pulling them into the Hale house each week to strengthen pack bonds, but the others don’t give him any smack about it, because they look like they’re really enjoying themselves.

Things have settled into a sort of fragile peace in Beacon Hills. The hunters are at bay, yet watchful, and no other occurrences of the supernatural kind have reared their ugly heads. The meetings have become less about hashing out strategies and sharing research findings, and more about watching stupid chick flick DVDs and snuggling with each other in warm puppy piles.

Derek doesn’t know whether to be weirded out or deliriously happy about it. He settles for a calm contentment, and a clear sort of focus on attending to his pack’s needs.

They’ve settled into a sort of pattern that Derek is almost happy with. The choice of movie is a constant battle between Jackson and Boyd, and Lydia and Erica. The boys would want something full of action and unnecessary amounts of blood, and the girls would want something with either strong female empowerment, or stupid high school drama plots. The girls often won with threats of not putting out. 

Isaac, it turns out, is brilliant at cooking just about anything you could eat with fingers, so he goes about bustling in the kitchen, and Scott follows him around and asks about everything, eager to learn the ropes of the kitchen. Games are determined by everyone, and seating in the living room is determined by the age old rule ‘first come, first served.’

The only thing erratic and spontaneous is Stiles. Derek’s not entirely happy because Stiles can’t seem to find a pattern to fall into. Sometimes he’s there, laughing and joking with his best friend, and sometimes he’s adamant about what the pack needs to watch (Marvel and cult films), and more often than that he’s arguing with Derek about just about anything because he’s an insolent little shit, but he never stays over, and always has an excuse whenever things are winding down and everyone’s exchanging yawns. 

And lately, it seems, Stiles doesn’t even come by at all. He’s always going off about ‘his dad needing some Stiles time’ or ‘the house needing a lot of work’ or ‘the chores need doing’ or ‘homework, sorry’ and it’s gotten a bit contrived and forced, that Derek feels the dissonance in his bones like something is definitely wrong.

He’s not about to ask everyone about it because he’s not like that, and suddenly acting like a pack dad would be ultra weird for everyone, but he’s really, honestly concerned. Because it’s Stiles.

Stiles had made a huge difference in his life, and Derek isn’t loathing to admit that at all. The pack wouldn’t be where it was without Stiles’ quick wit and knack for researching the oddest things.

And it’s not just the official creature-busting side of the pack that he’s good at. Derek knows his relationship with everyone.

He knows that prior to Erica being a werewolf, Stiles was a friend to her, despite her not realizing it, and that that has carried over into a fierce affection on her part. He knows that when Stiles and Boyd are together, their roles actually reverse—Stiles listens and Boyd actually talks. He knows that Stiles had kept Scott firmly grounded when Allison left, just by being there and helping him get over her. He knows that Stiles and Isaac are comic book nerds who actually go on fandom merchandise sprees. That he’s Jackson’s punching bag and he’s resigned to it, because Jackson’s always insecure, despite his badass personality. That Lydia owed her life to Stiles, who dropped everything just to keep her sane.

A strange surge of affection that wasn’t there months ago now almost threatens to bubble to the surface for the stupid spastic teenager who’s made their lives a whole lot better. Stiles—he gets people, and is somehow always there when they need anything. It’s no wonder that Derek finds himself realizing that he puts so much trust in Stiles. Everyone does. He’s like the glue that holds all of them together.

And it’s also when he realizes that maybe Stiles isn’t getting enough credit for all he’s done. Maybe things are taking its toll on Stiles, who has done nothing but give and not ask in return.

So Derek goes and investigates.

***

Derek doesn’t bring the Camaro. Instead he wears his best kicks and track pants, and decides to just run from place to place. He could hear from outside Stiles’ house the Sheriff talking to his son. Their exchange goes normally enough, with Stiles telling his dad that he’s going to run errands, and his dad telling him to take care. But Derek doesn’t understand why the mood’s so off, why in between the small talk during breakfast, there are deathly silences and a generally feeling of eerie unsettlement.

Derek looks from a tree branch as Stiles heads out, sprinting to his Jeep and starting the engine. Derek is at a loss. What’s going on? Stiles looks normal, all plaid and arms and clumsiness, but he’s a couple of shades grayer than Derek’s used to, and it’s unsettling to watch.

Something tugs in Derek’s chest. A low growl also starts in his throat. Somehow, he’s upset for Stiles, and it’s a feeling that comes in like a tidal wave.

After about ten blocks of running, he finds Stiles’ Jeep parked outside a convenience store. From behind a dumpster, he sees Stiles talking to someone, some old guy who seems to have no business at all talking to a teenager other than trouble. Derek’s eyes narrow when Stiles hands out some money, and the man nods, pushing past Stiles and walking into the store. Derek watches Stiles expression and behavior and tries to psychoanalyze everything. Stiles’ shoulders are slumped, his grown-out hair looks haggard and he’s got his hands jammed in his pockets, his foot tapping at the asphalt impatiently.

When the old bum comes out, he’s got a plastic bag in his hand and a smoke in the other. He gives the bag to Stiles, who nods gratefully, and the old bum offers his cigarette.

Derek’s eyebrows shoot up when Stiles takes it and sucks a long drag, before puffing it out erratically. Derek didn’t know Stiles smoked, or rather, had had smoke in his system. It’s a totally different side of Stiles he hasn’t seen before, and it’s making him more and more angry and frustrated.

Stiles nods at the old man again and then heads off to his Jeep, and Derek sticks to the shadows as the Jeep drives past. Derek is once again floored. What is happening? Does the Sheriff know? Is Stiles acting out? Worry fills his system before he could stop it, because _it’s Stiles_ , and he’s more than pack.

As Derek runs after him, he’s flooded with a lot of emotions. He’s angry, because Stiles shouldn’t be putting any of that sort into his system. Smoking kills, and Stiles is not a werewolf with superhuman lungs. He’s worried because Stiles is quite obviously going through something, and no one even knows about it. He’s frustrated that, despite everything they’ve been through, it seems to him that Stiles can’t put his trust on anyone. That he can’t put his trust in Derek and tell him what’s going on. This upsets Derek more than he anticipates, and he feels confused about what he’s emotions are implying.

He finds the Jeep in front of Florinda’s Flora this time and things get really thrown out of comprehension. Stiles is inside, chatting amicably enough with the girl in the counter, pointing to some of the flowers on display. Derek tries to perk his ears for Stiles’ voice and catches a few phrases. ‘It’s for her’ and a flower called ‘gladiolus’.

Derek’s head goes into full gear. Who’s ‘her’? He’s buying her flowers? Is he going on a date or something? Derek’s full of questions, and he isn’t quite sure anymore why he’s doing what he’s doing. What’s more, the thought of Stiles going on a date—it’s surreal, but not because Stiles isn’t dateable. It’s funny how Derek argues in his head a billion things to counter his previous thoughts, how adamant he asserts that Stiles is an amazing guy, how someone would be so fucking lucky to have such a considerate, selfless young man for a date. But it incites different thoughts of his own, thoughts that he’s not sure he’s ready to jump into, especially since Stiles is the point of interest at the moment.

Derek’s now thinking about who this girl is, and how he’s managed to bag a guy like Stiles. Maybe that’s the reason why Stiles is acting so off, or, hell, maybe this girl’s badly influencing Stiles. Derek hasn’t even met the girl and he’s already firing off glares at her in his mind’s eye.

Derek ducks behind a tree as Stiles heads out, with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. He bounces on his heels as Stiles guns the engine, and takes off just as soon as Stiles turns the corner. Derek’s assuming that Stiles is going to meet the girl somewhere, like it’s some sort of date, and something boils in the pit of Derek’s stomach at the thought of Stiles dating and not telling anyone. It’s like he doesn’t even know Stiles anymore, and it’s making his chest tighter with each step.

They take a turn that Derek’s confused about, because it’s non-residential and is actually heading off towards the highway. He almost thinks that he’s going to the Hale house, but then there are no girls there that aren’t spoken for, so that’ stupid. Is Stiles meeting this girl in the forest or something? Like some sort of secret rendezvous behind the bushes? Derek almost slaps himself. Stop thinking such gutter-made thoughts. 

He scowls, because he’s put his thoughts into it and it’s too late to pull out. The idea of Stiles being with someone in an intimate way shouldn’t be bothering Derek so much, but there it is, a persistent thought at the back of his head that Stiles is having sex with some girl that none of them know. It makes Derek want to tear his hair out by the roots, because Stiles is theirs, or so he vehemently argues, and he’s suddenly flooded by another realization. He’s not angry because Stiles is disconnected from the pack. He’s angry because of his turbulent emotions for Stiles. He’s getting jealous of this girl. Because this girl has Stiles, and he doesn’t.

Months ago, Derek wouldn’t have thought that he would get anywhere with Stiles friend-wise, but it took only weeks for him to jump leaps and bounds from an estranged sort of acquaintance to constant mythological crime-fighting companion. And more than that, Stiles has saved Derek’s life more times than the other way around. It frustrates Derek, because he’s supposed to be the strong one, the werewolf which had near immortal tendencies. But Derek, he finds an enormous kind of strength in what Stiles has, a fierce kind of loyalty and need to protect the pack, even though he’s the most fragile out of all of them.

When Stiles’ jeep stops it’s next to a place that Derek did not expect at all, a place that he and Isaac had been familiar with a year past. The cemetery looks as haunting during the day as it did during nighttime, but there was a calm sort of peace wrapped around it, the image of leaves rolling across the ground with the wind making it seem like a haven.  
Derek’s eyebrows knit together. A cemetery? Why is he meeting a girl in a cemetery?

Stiles steps out of the Jeep and huffs a breath, bouquet in one hand and the plastic bag in the other. Derek follows suit as Stiles walks towards the gates, and Derek is filled with a certain feeling of hesitation and dread. Should he continue on and tail Stiles? Is this the right thing to do? Derek is conflicted, but the pull of Stiles and his curiosity for what Stiles is doing is so strong that he relents, muffling his footsteps carefully and making sure there’s enough distance between them.

Derek grows increasingly agitated as they pass through gravestones and tombs, and its takes him a few seconds why that is—the dead lie in this place, and it’s reminding him of his family. The rest of their remains were buried here, in some secluded part of the cemetery where the moonlight is uninterrupted.

Derek stops in his tracks, blood running cold in his veins. It dawns on him, with a painful burst in his chest, why Stiles is here. Why Stiles bought flowers and is in a cemetery. He feels so incredibly stupid. Derek should have seen it before. It’s all so simple. It’s August, and Gladiolus, he’s heard Stiles prattle on about it before--Derek’s taken note of it and is some vague memory in his head, because it’s a symbol of remembrance, the birth flower of August. It's a symbol of strength of character, a trait that Stiles possesses, one that he inherited from a parent.

August was the month Claudia Stilinski was born.

He sees Stiles stop in front of a grave, silent and unmoving and so unlike Stiles, and he’s staring down at it with an unreadable expression, and Derek trembles slightly at the sight.

“Hey, mom,” he hears Stiles whisper, and he says it with such heavy affection that Derek forgets to breathe. “I’m here. Sorry for being late. Dad’s not too keen on my breakfast choice for him, and we had a solid argument about it, but it’s cool. We’re cool.”

Derek watches from another tree as Stiles settles down near his mother’s grave and sighs, looking at the fresh patch of grass where his mother was lying under.

Derek is a mess of emotions, and he almost wants to wolf out. Stiles is upwind, and he could catch the scent of one who is still grieving, who’s still firmly entrenched in guilt and loss. Derek closes his eyes, heart beating furiously and eyes turning glassy.

“I’m doing great, mom. I’ve had a constant supply of Aderall to contain my anxiety, and I promise I’m not abusing it. But yeah, things have been wild since my last visit. You’re probably aching to your bones with the urge to smack me over the head for being so stupid and reckless, for mingling with Derek and the rest,” Stiles starts, and Derek notices that the plastic bag is clinking as Stiles fishes inside it. He then takes out what is unmistakably a beer, and opens it with a bottle opener before taking a swig.

“You probably hate that I’m drinking right now. And smoking. It’s turned into a habit, mom. Not the drinking part, I only do it here when I need it, but the smoking, I promise I’ll stop, once I don’t feel so bad,” Stiles says. Derek slides down the tree trunk to the ground and sits there, his ears perked almost desperately for Stiles’ unspoken words.

“But mom, please don’t hate me for being with the pack. They’re,” Stiles chokes, and oh Gods, Derek realizes he’s crying. “I like them so much. I treat them like I treat dad, like they’re part of the family. And I can’t really go on and tell them that, because it’d be so, so stupid of me. I’d feel like such a loser for needing them so much when I’m not tied to any of them. All of them, they’re connected by something more than proximity. They’re pack because they’re wolves, and theirs is the instinctual need to be with each other. Even Lydia’s a part of the pack, because she and Jackson are really tight, like marriage in the future kind of tight. Me, I’m—“

“—they don’t need me. I don't think I belong with them anymore. They look perfect the way they are. I’m just a kid who likes supernatural stuff and doesn’t really have anything else to do. I’m just a constant pain in the ass. They don’t need me.”

Stiles drinks, and Derek is about a few seconds away from tearing through the cemetery and enclosing Stiles in a hug, because if anyone in the world deserves it right now, deserves the love and reassurance and the affection, it’s Stiles.

***

Derek doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore, but he’s out of the shadows, and his feet are dragging him against his will to the spot where Stiles is. They crunch the leaves with their soles and scratch against the paved pathway, and Derek knows his cover is blown.

Stiles’ head turns towards him and he sees Stiles’ face. It’s weary, and broken, and also surprised to see him.

“Derek, I—“ he starts, eyes wide, but then turns and clams shut, and Derek’s in control of himself again, except this time, he doesn’t stop what he’s doing and heads for Stiles.

“Stiles,” Derek sighs, balling his fists hard enough to hurt. “Stiles, I know that it’s wrong for me to have listened in and followed you. But—I overheard everything. I … you just don’t know, do you?”

Stiles is curled in on himself, hugging his knees tight to his chest and gazing absently at his mother’s grave. Derek stands there awkwardly, his breath caught in his chest because he doesn’t know what to do. _Follow your instincts, Derek._ His instincts are telling him to drop down and sit next to Stiles, and that’s exactly what he does.

“You don’t know,” Derek breathes in disbelief, “you don’t how much we need you. Just how much you’re worth to us, do you?”

Stiles huffs against his kneecaps. “I’m not pack.”

Derek growls angrily. Just when he thinks he’s at the root of the problem, Stiles takes out another layer of complexity that simply floors him. “You are. You are. You belong with us just as easily as Jackson’s a douchebag.”

Stiles’ eyebrows furrow. “I don’t understand …” he says, and it dawns on Derek that his suspicions had been true. Stiles had been getting no credit for all the help and care and support he’s been dumping on everyone, so much so that he’s all fleshed out and lonely and unappreciated. Derek’s arm shoots out behind Stiles, and Stiles’ breath hitches when Derek pulls him in for a tight half-hug.

“Let me tell you how much you matter, alright? Just, shut up for a minute and just—you just listen, okay?” Derek says against Stiles’ hair, and Stiles, too flabbergasted to do anything, just nods against his shoulder. Derek’s eyes hood at what he’s about to do. He had never been the one to say so much good about a person, but Stiles needs it desperately, and he’d be so happy if he’d be the one to give it to Stiles.

“We can’t live without you, Stiles,” Derek starts, and promptly smacks him lightly on the head when Stiles makes a move to protest. “What did I tell you about butting in? Just listen. Stiles, it—it might sound like an overstatement, but it’s not. It’s really not. We’d be a wreck without you around. You don’t know just how much you give and give. I’m killing myself here, because I’m the Alpha, and I should be taking care of everyone, and I’ve neglected you and your needs. Out everyone in the pack, it should have been you I was making sure was alright, because you know just what everyone needs, and you do all the work for me, without even trying. But I didn’t know what you needed until now and--I’m telling you. You’re pack. You’re in this with us for life.”

Stiles breathes against his shirt, and for a second Derek thinks Stiles has gone to sleep, but then Stiles chuckles softly and buries his face in the crook of Derek’s neck.

“That—that’s just about the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. And, well, coming from you Derek—I think you’ve reached your quota of nice feely words for a lifetime with that paragraph.”

“I talk when I need to,” Derek says softly, and his arms tighten around Stiles’ frail form. How could he have disregarded Stiles and his penchant for self-deprecation? Stiles is honestly the single most extraordinary person Derek’s met, and right there, with Stiles’ warmth against his chest, he finally settles into an acceptance of what he feels.

“So, I’m pack?” Stiles asks, so quietly it’s like he’s a child who’s never really sure. Derek pulls back, and he locks gazes with a teary-eyed Stiles, who needs all the reassurance in the world, and Derek thinks, well, his instincts tell him that the best reassurance he could give was a promise of something more than pack. His hands smooth down the back of Stiles’ neck, and he leans in, capturing Stiles’ lips in a kiss, a quiet yet deliberate kiss that Derek uses to pour all of his emotions. Stiles is wide-eyed for a moment, but then his hands grip a part of Derek’s shirt near the werewolf's chest, and the tension leaves his shoulders and back as he gives in to Derek. 

“You’re pack,” Derek ascertains, his eyes conveying everything Stiles needs to know and everything else left unsaid, and they settle into each other’s embrace, and Derek feels whole again, knowing Stiles knows.


End file.
